


Accidental

by JuliaJekyll



Series: Ineffable Husbands + Livinia [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1960s, Accidental Voyeurism, Awkward Conversations, Drinking & Talking, Drunkenness, Friendship, Frottage, Historical References, Kissing, Language, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out in the Bentley (Good Omens), Masturbation, Mild Blood, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-08-13 10:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20172691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJekyll/pseuds/JuliaJekyll
Summary: "Being in love with Aziraphale was just something that Crowley was. It was an inherent part of him, inescapable and ever-present. He was a demon, he was a motorist, he was a music lover, he was a sunglasses enthusiast, and he was in love with Aziraphale. None of that was negotiable, debatable, or alterable. It simply was. Just facts. Just truths."Crowley has a drink with a demon friend and later fantasizes about his angel.





	1. Chapter 1

1964

“So, how are things with the angel?” the demon sitting across from Crowley asked, swirling the wine around in her glass, watching it intently. She was sitting sideways in a chair, her legs dangling over one arm and her back pressed against the other. Waves of dark hair fell toward the floor behind her, and the dim lighting in Crowley’s flat made it impossible to tell where her pupils ended and her irises began. 

Crowley gave her a poisonous look. “You know his name, Livinia.” 

“Aziraphale,” Livinia said, drawing the name out. She looked at Crowley, grinning wickedly. “Does he know you’re in love with him yet?” 

“Nope.” Crowley took a sip of wine, then nodded toward Livinia’s still nearly-full second glass. “Drink up,” he said. “You know I don’t drink white; I only got the stuff in for you.” 

Obediently, Livinia took a long sip, draining nearly half the glass. 

“Good girl,” Crowley said. 

Livinia rolled her eyes. “You’re avoiding my question.” 

“Because nothing’s changed.” Crowley slammed back his own wine, drinking a full glass in one go as if it were a shot of tequila. “I haven’t told him, and I’m not going to tell him. Honestly, Linia, I’m used to it. You know how long I’ve been-” he paused. He still didn’t like to say it. 

“In love with the angel,” Livinia supplied helpfully. 

Crowley grimaced. “Yes. That. You know it’s been ages and ages and  _ ages.  _ I barely even notice it anymore.” 

In a way, it was true. Being in love with Aziraphale was just something that Crowley  _ was.  _ It was an inherent part of him, inescapable and ever-present. He was a demon, he was a motorist, he was a music lover, he was a sunglasses enthusiast, and he was in love with Aziraphale. None of that was negotiable, debatable, or alterable. It simply  _ was. _ Just facts. Just truths. 

Most of the time, when he was with Aziraphale, he didn't even think about how very much he loved him. He would liken it to listening to good music; when you listened to good music, you didn't spend the whole time thinking  _ I love this song I love this song I love this song,  _ you just enjoyed it and maybe sang along (or hummed along, if it was an instrumental). That was what being with Aziraphale was like. Enjoying a song you'd always loved by an artist you adored and savoring the best bits. 

“But don’t you want more?” Livinia asked, polishing off the glass of wine and helping herself to another. “Don’t you want to kiss him, or, I don’t know, fuck him?” 

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “Bit vulgar, aren’t you? He’s an  _ angel,  _ for fuck’s sake.” 

Livinia waved a hand dismissively. “Angels can have sex if they want to.” 

“How would you know?” 

“Um. I used to be one?” 

Crowley sighed. “Of course I want that,” he said. “I want  _ everything.  _ If something exists in this universe, odds are good that I’ve thought about doing it with Aziraphale.” 

Livinia shook her head. “I just don’t understand how you can want so much and ask for so little. I mean, you’re a demon. We’re not supposed to be good at resisting that kind of thing.” 

“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice.” Crowley poured himself another glass. 

Livinia put her wine down and swung her legs forward, so that she was sitting normally in the chair. She looked Crowley in the eyes, leaning forward with her elbows braced on her knees, her expression serious. “One of these days,” she said, “I’m going to steal your body and tell him myself.” 

“You wouldn’t do that.” 

"You don’t think so?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

Livinia raised her eyebrows inquisitively. 

“Because,” Crowley said, responding to the question he knew was in her mind, “I trust you not to.” 

Livinia fell silent at that. Trust was such a rare commodity among demons, and she and Crowley both knew that they’d never do anything to break the other’s trust in them. They’d been friends nearly since their Fall, and Crowley relied on her more than he liked to admit. 

Crowley nodded toward the wine glass Livinia had set on the floor. “That had better not leave your hand again,” he said. 

Livinia picked up the glass and drained it. Then, as he watched, she squeezed it until it shattered in her hand. A trickle of blood began making its way from her palm to her wrist. 

Crowley clicked his tongue. “Now, what did you do that for? These are my good glasses.” 

“So fix it.” 

“You fix it! You broke it!” 

Livinia just shook her head, a smile curving her mouth. 

"You are such a child,” Crowley said. “At least heal that cut.” 

“No. I want it there.” 

Crowley made a frustrated noise. “Why do you care so much about my relationship with Aziraphale, anyway?” 

The teasing light left Livinia’s eyes and was replaced by a sincerity that almost physically hurt Crowley. “Is it so hard to believe that I want you to be happy?” she asked. 

Crowley broke their eye contact and looked down, staring into his glass. He adored Livinia, but there were certain lines that demons generally didn’t cross when talking to each other, and he was pretty sure she was ignoring all of them right now. “Just forget about it, Linia,” he said softly. “Let’s talk about what you’ve been up to lately. You’ve been making quite a stir, haven’t you?” 

Livinia accepted the subject change. She usually did, when given the opportunity to talk about herself. Though she, like Crowley, was a bit of an unconventional demon, vanity was one demonic quality she’d never had trouble with. “Well,” she said, “I haven’t been up here in a few decades. I had to do  _ something  _ to leave my mark.” 

“Let me guess: you’re behind the whole Beatles thing.” 

Livinia gave a mischievous smile with one side of her mouth. “I might be.” 

“Bloody well done, you.” 

“I also got Malta its independence and am working on inventing Milton Keynes.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Not much, at the moment, but it’ll grow. You’re not the only demon who can create a town, you know.” 

“I’ll have you know that Manchester is a  _ city _ ,” Crowley said smugly. 

“Oh, whatever. Do you have any more glasses?” 

“Not for you! Fix the one you broke, first!” 

Livinia sighed far more dramatically than the situation called for and snapped her fingers. The glass restored itself, and Crowley picked it up and went to get her some more wine. 

* * *

_ “Is it so hard to believe that I want you to be happy?”  _

It wasn’t. Crowley may not have had many friends in his existence, but he was absolutely sure that the two he did have - Aziraphale and Livinia - wanted him to be as happy as a demon could be. And he  _ was  _ happy, in general. There was quite a lot he liked about living on Earth; he was definitely happier than he’d be living in Hell like Livinia did most of the time. The only times he felt markedly unhappy occurred when he thought about his illicit, almost-definitely-unrequited feelings for Aziraphale. 

As a consequence, he tried  _ not  _ to think about them all that much, but after Livinia left, Aziraphale was the only thing on his mind. And so, after drinking his bottle of red wine down to the dregs, he miracled himself a second one and started drinking it straight from the bottle, not bothering with a glass now that he no longer had company. 

“Why’re you such an  _ angel,  _ though?” he slurred loudly at the empty walls of his flat, imagining he was talking to Aziraphale even though he’d never say these kinds of things to him. “Why’d you ‘ave t’make me love you s’much?” Why’re you so gorgeous and -  _ hic  _ \- perfect and...mmmm, lovely?” 

He was dimly aware of how utterly pathetic this was, but he couldn’t be bothered to sober up and get a grip. He was laying on his back on top of his desk, something - possibly a pen - digging into his shoulder, the cord to his desktop phone wound around his hand, one leg crossed over the other. He wondered vaguely whether he should have asked Livinia to stay - she had a knack for keeping him together, but it was too late for that now. 

“She was right, y’know,” Crowley went on, talking to the ceiling as though Aziraphale might have put a camera up there somewhere. “I do wanna kiss you, and I wanna -  _ hic  _ \- hold you, and fall ‘sleep with you, and fuck you...all of it. Wish I could let you know.” Idly, he continued playing with the phone cord. “All of it, angel, everything….. _ hic _ . Fuck. ‘M a mess.” 

Crowley closed his eyes and pictured Aziraphale as he’d been when he’d last seen him a few months ago. Handsome as ever, he’d looked, with his white blond hair and old-fashioned clothing. They’d gone out to eat - well, Aziraphale had eaten, Crowley had drunk several cups of coffee and stared at him while he ate. 

He really, really liked coffee. 

Anyway, back to Aziraphale. What would it have been like if he’d had the guts to lean in and kiss him when they’d sat in the restaurant that day? He imagined that Aziraphale would have been surprised at first, but then he would have returned the kiss, because how could he not? There’d be too much passion in any kiss of Crowley’s for him to resist for long. He hoped. 

Crowley swore under his breath and trailed the hand that wasn’t tangled in the phone cord down his body, brushing it over his groin. The thought of kissing Aziraphale was turning him on. If he’d been sober, he probably would have resisted the urge to palm himself, but he wasn’t feeling very rational at the moment, and so he began stroking the outline of his cock through his trousers, feeling it slowly start to wake up. 

Crowley tried to sit up, thinking he might stumble to the bedroom so he could give himself a proper servicing, but just then, his phone rang. Frantically, he struggled to free his hand from the cord. As he was too inebriated to manage it quickly, however, the machine had already picked up by the time he did. 

_ "Hi, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style.”  _

Crowley couldn’t help smiling a little when he heard his recorded message. He loved this new answering machine contraption. 

His smile disappeared immediately when he heard who was calling him. 

“Er, hello. I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, dear boy; what is it I’m supposed to be doing with style? Hello? Crowley?” 

With his newly freed hand, Crowley picked up the phone, his other hand now as far away from his still half-hard cock as he could reasonably get it. “Hello.” 

“Hello, Crowley. What did you mean about-”

“Hi, Aziraphale.” 

“Yes, hello. Again. Um. Are you alright, dear?” 

“Oh, yeah. Fine. Sure.” 

“Riiiight,” Aziraphale said. “Er, listen, dear boy, if this is a bad time-”

“‘S probably -  _ hic  _ \- a  _ very  _ bad time, angel.” As much as Crowley would have liked to talk to Aziraphale, he was still self-aware enough to know that it likely wasn’t a good idea to do so when he was laying on his desk, blitzed on wine and sexually aroused. 

“Are you drunk?” Aziraphale asked.

“Mmmm.” 

“I see. Well, perhaps I’ll call back tomorrow?” 

“Do. Yes.” 

“Ok. Goodnight, dear.” 

“Night,” Crowley said, and slammed the phone down before he could say anything else stupid. 

Frustrated, Crowley leaned his head back. His erection hadn’t gone away. He still had it in his head that he’d like to go to his bedroom, but he simply couldn’t be arsed to get off the desk. 

“Oh, screw it,” he muttered, and unbuttoned his trousers. He kicked them off onto the floor and pushed his pants down to his knees, then began running his fingertips lightly over his cock, working to get himself the rest of the way hard. Shutting his eyes again, listening to Aziraphale’s voice in his head, he tried to imagine it saying other things instead. 

_ "Crowley, kiss me.”  _

“Oh, I will,” Crowley replied to the angel’s voice in his head. “I’ll kiss you bloody fucking senseless. All over...your lips, your face, your neck...chest…” 

Fully hard now, Crowley wrapped his hand around his cock and slid it slowly upwards. He bit his lip. “Aziraphale...that feels good.” 

_ "I want you.”  _ The phantom voice filtered through Crowley’s mind again. 

“Fuck, angel, I’ve wanted you for millennia.” Crowley rubbed his cock with his thumb, then held it with his whole hand again and began pumping it in earnest, changing the angle slightly. “I love you. I’m…. _ fuck.  _ I’m yours.” 

_ "You’re mine,”  _ he imagined Aziraphale saying.  _ “Let me take you in my mouth.”  _

“Oh, please do,” Crowley moaned, arching his back so much that he lost his grip on his dick for a moment. He grabbed it again quickly and resumed the motion of his hand. “Do anything y’want to me, angel. Please. Anything.” 

As he continued to get himself off, Crowley pictured Aziraphale on his knees, wrapping his mouth around him, sucking him. He saw those blue eyes before him, watching him with love, and he moaned, muffling the sound in his own shoulder, moving his hand faster on himself. 

“Fuck, Aziraphale.” Crowley bit his teeth together as he worked his cock. “Love...angel…” Losing coherence as he got closer to orgasm, Crowley went back to just breathing heavily and moaning occasionally, trying to picture Aziraphale’s hand on him instead, Aziraphale’s lips brushing over his own. 

“Angel...oh,  _ angel... _ ahh, fuck, just like that…” Crowley gripped his hair with his free hand and came, spasming and groaning loudly until he was finished. He blew out a long breath and didn’t move for several moments, enjoying the feeling of calm that rushed over him as he released his cock. He was pretty sure he could have fallen asleep on the desk, but eventually he miracled himself clean and forced himself to stand up, then stumbled to his bedroom and fell into bed to sleep off the wine. 

* * *

Just over a mile away in Soho, Aziraphale put the phone down with a shaking hand and sank into his desk chair. He dropped his head into his hands and ran them through his hair, which was damp with sweat. He was pretty sure that listening to one’s best friend masturbate was not generally acceptable, and he was already feeling guilty about that - since Crowley had clearly been under the impression that he’d hung up the phone properly - but he felt even guiltier about how difficult it was to resist Making an Effort so that he could masturbate too. He never got erections unless he specifically willed one into being, but he was one hundred percent sure that he would have one now if he were a man instead of an angel inhabiting a male body. God help him, listening to Crowley getting off, moaning, saying Aziraphale’s name in that wrecked, desperate voice - well. It had been fascinating and stimulating and had made his heart race and his blood pound. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath and sat up. He’d have to apologize to Crowley at some point for listening in on something so private. 

He also might have to ask him just how long he’d wanted the same thing Aziraphale did: to furiously kiss and engage in sexual activity with his best friend. 

Yes, he was definitely going to have to call Crowley back soon. 


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning was a rough one. Crowley had been too exhausted, not to mention depressed, to remember to miracle the alcohol out of his system before going to bed, with the result that he now had a splitting headache. He also felt vaguely nauseous, probably because he hadn’t had anything to eat the previous day. He sighed irritably. He really wished that human bodies weren’t so bloody _needy_.

He swayed to the kitchen, where he downed two glasses of water and scarfed down a croissant he’d bought about a month ago but which was miraculously still soft and flaky. Feeling slightly better, at least from a physical standpoint, he sat at the kitchen island with his head pillowed on his arms, thinking about Aziraphale.

Crowley moaned in embarrassment and covered his face with his hands when he recalled how he’d essentially used an imagined sexual encounter with his best friend as a masturbation aid. There was something deeply fucked up about that, wasn’t there? It wasn’t enough that he’d been in love with Aziraphale for so long; was he really going to start jacking off thinking about him, too?

Well, alright; it hadn’t been the first time he’d gotten off to thoughts of the angel, but usually, when he was drunk enough to allow himself that kind of indulgence, he just pictured Aziraphale in his head. Last night had been the first time he’d played out a full scene in his mind, the first time he’d actually spoken out loud as though he were talking to Aziraphale. This, he imagined, was probably symptomatic of an infatuation that was getting worse, not better. He almost felt as though he should call the angel and apologise. _Aziraphale, I pictured doing all sorts of very sinful things with you while stroking my cock last night and I eventually had a rather delightful orgasm during which I imagined it was you giving me a handjob. Anyway, it was rather presumptuous of me. Sorry._

Shit. Aziraphale had said he’d call back today. Would Crowley be ready for that? Would he be able to talk to him without collapsing into a puddle of quivering shame?

Doubtful.

He considered calling Livinia, but quickly dismissed the thought. She'd roll her eyes and huff, and then she'd probably grab Crowley by the lapels, shake him, and shout at him to _just fucking tell the angel the truth already_. And she would be well within her rights. Crowley didn't think he could face that.

Groaning theatrically, Crowley dragged himself out of the chair and began pacing aimlessly around his kitchen, biting his nails. Images from the previous night’s fantasies began to slip past his defenses to the forefront of his mind, and he struggled to push them away. He was in very real danger of falling back into bed for another go, but there was no path to orgasm that didn’t pass through the realm of self-hatred, and he just wasn’t in the mood to hate himself. Irritably, he reached down between his legs and squeezed his cock, hard, trying to signal to it that it needed to behave itself, or else.

Crowley sighed in frustration. It wasn’t an orgasm he really wanted; if that were the case, he’d just have a wank like a normal person and be done with it. No, it was Aziraphale. It always was.

He glanced toward his office, where the phone was. He was absolutely, one hundred percent, not going to call Aziraphale. That would be fucking insane. He did want to talk to him, but he couldn’t, not in this state.

Restless, Crowley paced toward the door. He summoned his car keys to his hand from the table with a thought. He was suddenly feeling very claustrophobic. He couldn’t stand to be in here anymore. He needed to move, to go somewhere, to be dynamic…not to mention to get away from the phone.

Also, he wanted coffee.

* * *

Crowley’s hands were shaking so hard that the cup rattled in the saucer when he put it down after throwing back his fifth espresso. He wasn’t sure if this was better or worse than getting drunk. Livinia, no doubt, would say it was worse - she hated espressos, but Crowley had seen her drink amounts of booze that probably would have given her alcohol poisoning if she were human. That was one of the funny things about Livinia: she spent most of her time in Hell, but when she was on Earth, she drank like Crowley and ate like Aziraphale.

Crowley picked up one of the napkins from the table and began shredding it, just for something to do with his hands. He realized that he was trembling all over, and that if he’d been trying to calm himself down by coming out for coffee, he probably shouldn’t have had quite so much of the stuff.

He was just starting to consider banishing the caffeine from his body when the cafe door opened, and Aziraphale walked in.

_You have got to be fucking kidding me,_ Crowley thought. He flicked his eyes toward the ceiling. _God, I swear, if this was your doing…_

Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice him; he was looking at the cakes and muffins under the counter, but Crowley knew there were only two possibilities in this scenario: it was either he started the conversation, or the angel would.

“Hi, Aziraphale,” he said, as casually as he could.

Aziraphale turned around. "Oh," he said, his gaze roaming all over Crowley's face without ever actually making eye contact. "Hello, Crowley."

"Alright?" Crowley asked.

"Oh, yes. Just came out for a bit of…" he glanced at the display again, then smiled at Crowley, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Well. It doesn't matter. This is a nice surprise."

The last sentence sounded terribly insincere, as if Aziraphale had read it off a script. Despite the fact that he hadn't been particularly excited to see Aziraphale either, given the circumstances, Crowley's heart throbbed a little painfully at the thought that the angel wasn't actually glad he was there.

Feeling distinctly awkward, Crowley nodded to the chair across the table from him. "You can sit, if you want," he said. Was his voice higher-pitched than normal, or was he imagining that?

"Right," Aziraphale said. "Just a moment." He turned to the counter and ordered a muffin, then sat down across from Crowley.

"Another espresso, please," Crowley requested when the waitress brought the muffin over. She nodded and went back behind the counter.

Aziraphale seemed nervous, and he wasn't looking at Crowley. Instead, he was staring down at the table. Crowley leaned forward a little. "Angel?"

Aziraphale raised his eyes, and for a split second, Crowley almost thought he looked afraid. With a slightly trembling hand, he picked up his fork and forced another smile. "I was going to call you again, this evening. How are you, dear boy?"

Crowley licked his lips - was Aziraphale _blushing_? - and tried to come up with an answer that would be truthful without being _too_ truthful. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this uncomfortable in the angel's presence, but it wasn't every day you sat in a public place with someone you'd recently masturbated to.

As he was struggling to formulate a response, the waitress brought him espresso number six. The tremors in Crowley's hands had gotten worse, he realized, as he went to lift the cup.

"My dear!" Aziraphale cried, noticing how unsteady his hands were. As though instinctively, he reached out to cover them with his own, holding them tightly between his palms. Aziraphale's hands were warm and smooth, and Crowley met his gaze as they sat there with their hands joined together, shakes still travelling up and down his body.

"Crowley, what's wrong?" Aziraphale asked worriedly, not letting go.

Crowley cleared his throat. "I'm fine, angel," he said. He nodded toward the espresso. "I've just had five of these."

"Five?" Aziraphale repeated. "No wonder you're so jittery."

"Sure, but what's your excuse?" Crowley asked. "You seem...nervous."

"Oh." Aziraphale swallowed. "Is it that obvious?"

"It is to me. What's going on?" Crowley asked. Aziraphale still hadn't relinquished his grip on his hands, and Crowley was enjoying it more than he probably should be. Aziraphale initiating touch with him was relatively rare, and he had learned to treasure it whenever it happened.

"I…" Aziraphale trailed off. He glanced around the cafe, as if he were worried that someone might be listening to them. "Dear, would you mind terribly if we discussed this elsewhere?"

A stone of anxiety seemed to drop into Crowley's stomach. "My car's outside."

"Very well," Aziraphale replied. He wrapped up the muffin and stood up. Crowley drained the espresso, left some money on the table, and they both went out to the Bentley.

Crowley got in first, unlocked the passenger door for Aziraphale with a snap of his fingers, and watched the angel get into the car. They sat in silence for a moment after Aziraphale closed the door.

"So," Crowley said. "What's up?"

"Do you remember when I called you last night?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you didn't hang up when you thought you did."

The anxious stone in Crowley's stomach seemed to freeze inside him, chilling him from the inside out and making him shake even more. "What do you mean?" he asked, even though he had a pretty good idea already.

Aziraphale stared out the front window of the car. "I heard…some things I probably shouldn't have."

"You heard…"

"You, um, pleasuring yourself." Aziraphale gave him an apologetic look.

Crowley had been telling anyone who would listen for hundreds of years that demons did not blush, and now he was quite glad it was dark, because he was pretty sure he was redder than he'd ever been in his long existence. "Well," he said, surprising himself with how calm he sounded. "I guess the cat's out of the bag, then, eh?"

"I really am sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"So why didn't you hang up?"

Aziraphale turned to him. "I have no excuse."

"I should say not."

"Do you do that often?" Aziraphale asked.

"What? Masturbate?"

"Not exactly. I mean...do you often think about...well, me?"

"_Think_ about you? Yes. Literally every time. Actually _talk_ to you? Generally not." He gave a humorless laugh. "Just when you're listening, apparently."

"But did you...did you mean everything you said? About wanting me, and-"

"Oh, yes. Every word."

Aziraphale stared at him for several seconds, and Crowley was starting to worry that he might have ruined their relationship for good when, in a sudden, explosive movement, Aziraphale leaned over the gear shift, cupped Crowley's face, and kissed him, a wet, open-mouthed kiss that left no room for doubt as to just how he felt about Crowley getting off to thoughts of him.

Crowley's tongue responded faster than his brain, sliding into Aziraphale's mouth as he kissed back frantically, his still-trembling hands sliding around Aziraphale's upper back to pull him closer. When Aziraphale broke the kiss, Crowley was already panting.

"Angel," he started. "I-"

"Can we go to yours?" Aziraphale interrupted.

In answer, Crowley started the car. He backed out of his parking place and sped onto the road, flooring it. Aziraphale clung to the ceiling bar, but he didn't object.

"Is it safe to assume that you want to continue this when we get there?" Crowley asked, his eyes fixed on the road. There was no way to get there fast enough.

"I want to continue it _now_," Aziraphale said, and he placed his hand on Crowley's thigh.

"Fuck," Crowley said, willing his car to go faster, miracling the upcoming traffic lights green.

Aziraphale's hand inched up Crowley's leg toward his groin. When his hand brushed against Crowley's cock through his trousers, Crowley hissed.

"Should I stop?" Aziraphale breathed.

"Don't you dare," Crowley snarled.

Aziraphale began stroking him lightly, and Crowley, who had already been partially hard after the kiss, felt his cock swell to full capacity. He shifted in the seat. "Nearly there," he murmured. He couldn't help being a little proud. This was giving new meaning to the term "speed demon".

* * *

Crowley arrived at his flat in record time and parked the car. He and Aziraphale fell out of it and stumbled to his door, already in each other's arms and kissing again, unable to keep their hands off each other. Crowley didn't even bother trying to hide his erection. He snapped the door open and Aziraphale pushed him against the wall, ravishing his mouth and pressing their bodies together. Crowley felt Aziraphale's cock, beautifully hard, make contact with his own, and he groaned.

"I've been wanting this for years," Aziraphale said against Crowley's neck, mouthing at his throat wildly as he pushed their groins together, dragging himself over Crowley's cock from top to bottom, making Crowley moan and push back.

"Oh, I'm quite sure I've got you beat," Crowley answered, his head against the wall, his hands clutching at Aziraphale's arse to increase the friction between them.

Aziraphale's teeth grazed Crowley's ear. "This won't be the only time," he babbled.

"It better not be," Crowley growled back. "Oh, angel…"

Their hips moved together, faster and more urgently. The stimulation was incredible; exactly what Crowley needed. He kissed Aziraphale again, passionately and sloppily, all finesse sacrificed in favor of contact and speed.

Aziraphale came first, stiffening and shuddering against Crowley, moaning into the demon's shoulder. "That's right, angel," Crowley said, still rutting against him. "You're so gorgeous like this...oh-"

Aziraphale reached out to palm Crowley through his trousers, and the touch of the angel's fingers on his cock pushed Crowley over the edge. He spasmed and came in his pants, then collapsed into Aziraphale, head dropping onto his shoulder.

They stayed there, holding each other up, breathing heavily, for a minute before they broke apart to look at each other and then began kissing again, slow but intense. Crowley cradled Aziraphale's face between his hands, trying to make the angel feel how desperately he loved him.

When the kiss ended, Aziraphale looked into Crowley's eyes. "Magnificent," he murmured. "You're magnificent, my dear."

"I love you," Crowley said. He'd already told him so inadvertently the previous night, he reflected, so at least it wouldn't be a surprise even if Aziraphale didn't feel the same.

"Oh, darling." Aziraphale kissed him again, warm and gentle now that their most immediate hunger had been sated. "I love you too. I've loved you for ages."

Crowley promptly started shivering at this admission. These were words he'd never thought the angel would say to him, and now that he had, his emotions were going haywire. He was elated, of course, but also shocked and uncertain and utterly terrified. So he had Aziraphale's love; now he had to keep it. He had to deserve it.

"Shh," Aziraphale said, hugging Crowley's trembling body to him as though he understood exactly what Crowley was feeling. "I've got you, love. I'm here. We'll figure it out, yes? I promise."

"Yes," Crowley replied, returning the hug. It was all he could manage to say, but he supposed that, for now at least, it was enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoyed the fic? Let me know!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Purposeful?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23904772) by [HarmoniHalo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmoniHalo/pseuds/HarmoniHalo)


End file.
